


said they could restore me

by extremelyquestionable (TechnicalTragedy)



Category: The Derp Crew (Youtube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Heartache, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicalTragedy/pseuds/extremelyquestionable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>took a spoonful of sugar, but it got caught in my throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	said they could restore me

It was Christmas when Anthony called. “I’m so tired,” he’d said, apropos of nothing, his voice sounding shattered and shaky.

"Then sleep," Steven had replied easily, smiling apologetically at his mother as he ducked out of the room for some semblance of privacy.

"I’m tired of everything, Steven," Anthony had clarified, and a weak chuckle had slid past his teeth. "God, it’s Christmas, and I’m alone. I don’t even fucking celebrate Christmas, but, but looking around at all these lights - there’s so many lights in New York, you wouldn’t believe - I feel like the worst piece of shit."

Steven had sighed, and leaned against the wall, cradling his phone close to his ear as a flimsy substitute for Anthony. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say, and Anthony huffed raggedly, a sound Steven belatedly recognized as a laugh.

"You always did have a way with words," Anthony had said quietly, and Steven felt the sick heaviness of dread settling in his gut at how similar to a goodbye it sounded.

"I can be out there by the day after tomorrow," Steven had told him, dodging the eyes of his curious family as he fled to his room and his computer, quickly checking on the availability of flights from California to New York.

There was a faint rattling sound, like pills in a bottle. “Don’t bother,” Anthony’s voice had come through, rougher than it had been a few moments prior.

Steven put his hand on his desk and leaned on it, hanging his head and keeping his phone pressed to his ear. “Come pick me up at the airport. Day after tomorrow, the twenty-seventh.” He pushed off the desk and confirmed the purchase of his tickets with a tap. “Please meet me at the airport.”

There was a long, stagnant silence, and then the rattle again. “Alright,” Anthony had sounded resigned. “I’ll see you then.”

 

-  - -

 

Steven’s plane touched down in New York, and though he tried to hurry, he was one of the last people off. He half-expected Anthony to not show up, but when he had grabbed his bags and made his way through the throngs of Christmas travelers, he found Anthony waiting for him outside, his hood pulled up over his head and his hands shoved into his pockets as he leaned against a wall. He straightened when he saw Steven, but didn’t remove the hood from his head or his hands from his pockets.

Steven wrapped him up in a hug and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt a bit when Anthony didn’t hug back. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, but Anthony’s only answer was to gently disengage, not meet his eyes, and turn, leading Steven to a waiting cab.

Steven wrestled his suitcase into the back of the cab, then took his seat next to a waiting Anthony, who had apparently already told the driver where to go, since as soon as Steven shut the door, they were off.

They sat in silence for a while. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was silence, though, oppressive and stifling, and Steven had to break it. “You know, even though I told you the time to come get me yesterday and you told me you’d be here, I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

Anthony shrugged and didn’t say anything, but a few moments later, right after Steven sighed and looked away, Anthony’s shoulder touched his, and they maintained that single point of contact for the entire drive to Anthony’s apartment.

Anthony covered the cab fare with a wad of crumpled bills pulled from his pocket while Steven hauled his luggage out onto the sidewalk. They looked at each other silently while the taxi pulled away from the curb, until Anthony inclined his head slightly and led the way up to his fourth-floor apartment.

Steven set his suitcase on the floor right next to the door. Anthony finally pushed his hood off of his head and shot Steven a tiny, brittle smile.

"You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch," he said, and Steven frowned, thinking of the last time he’d been here.

"If the bed is the same one you had last time, we’ll both fit," Steven said, and grinned, shrugging. "I don’t mind if you don’t."

Anthony bit his lip, the realest emotion Steven had seen from him since he’d landed. “Alright,” he finally said. “How long are you staying?”

Steven’s fingers twitched, and he obliged their want, his hand coming to rest on Anthony’s shoulder. “For as long as you need.”

Anthony nods, and looks away. “I…appreciate it. Thanks.”

There was a balloon lodged in Steven’s chest as he answered, “Anything you need.”

Anthony stilled beneath his hand, everything ground to a halt. “You shouldn’t promise me anything, Steven,” he chuckled, though it didn’t sound amused, “I might take advantage of it.”

"Maybe I want you to," Steven said, fingers tightening on Anthony’s shoulder.

"Steven," Anthony said, warning clear in his voice.

Slowly, Steven removed his hand, and Anthony didn’t look at him.

"Let me take your suitcase to my room," he said at length, and Steven wordlessly grabbed it and passed it to him. Anthony left, still without looking at Steven.

Steven looked around, and when he saw out the window he was amazed at the lights, drawn toward them like a moth to a flame.

Anthony watched Steven staring at the lights, and nearly felt guilty.

 

\- - -

 

Anthony kissed Steven that night as Christmas light flooded in through the thin curtains over Anthony’s bedroom window. Steven blinked at him, and as a hand pawed at his crotch, he got the strangest feeling that he’d been a nearly 3,000 mile booty call, though that didn’t make sense, since Anthony had sounded distraught over the phone.

His lips and mind were occupied by Anthony once again, who had finally managed to pull Steven’s pants down without his knowledge. “You’re thinking too much,” he whispered against his lips, and Steven grabbed his wrist before anything more could happen.

"You aren’t thinking enough," he challenged, and Anthony’s eyes opened into slits.

"You promised me anything," Anthony reminded him, as if Steven needed reminding of the words that had been playing through his head since he’d said them.

Steven nodded and kissed Anthony. He did promise him anything, and this isn’t something he doesn’t want. He’d thought about this a lot, in fact, and since it was in his hands, he figured he should take it. He released Anthony’s wrist, and the newly-freed hand went straight to his cock, stroking him until he was achingly hard as he gasped into Anthony’s mouth.

 ”Fuck me,” Anthony breathed, trying to wiggle out of his pants as he gripped Steven’s thigh. “Please, please fuck me. I need it, you, please.”

Steven, because he couldn’t deny Anthony anything, most definitely couldn’t deny him this. He stilled Anthony’s squirming with a light touch to his hip, and pushed the blankets to their feet, settling himself between Anthony’s spread legs. He pulled Anthony’s pants down his thighs, gently urging him to lift his legs so he could slip them off. Steven tossed the pants over the side of the bed and walked closer on his knees, feeling Anthony’s legs drop onto his shoulders.

Anthony was staring at the ceiling blankly. Steven put his hands on Anthony’s thighs, just above his knees, and tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn’t look down. Instead, he wordlessly held out a small bottle of lube, one that was seemingly produced from thin air, and Steven hesitantly took it, biting his lip almost anxiously as Anthony purposely made sure their fingers didn’t touch. It was as if now, when they were about to have sex, that tiny touch was too intimate.

When Steven didn’t open the bottle, Anthony looked at him. “Are you going to fuck me or what? I want your fingers in me soon.”

Steven’s eyes skittered away, and he fumbled open the cap on the lube, squeezing a gratuitous amount over his fingers and over Anthony’s hole, before testing the give with a thumb. Anthony grumbled when Steven wasn’t going fast enough for him, and soon Steven was fucking him open with three fingers, listening to his plaintive mewls and watching his fingers flex against the sheets.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please, please, please," became Anthony’s mantra, and it had Steven sliding his fingers out and slicking himself up before pushing in slowly, steadily, giving Anthony time to adjust to the new intrusion. Anthony was still until Steven’s hips pressed into the meat of his ass, and then his fingers uncurled from where they were busy trying to rip into the mattress.

Anthony didn’t look down from the ceiling as Steven begins to fuck him, eyes distant as his body rocked with Steven’s movements. Steven wasn’t sure he wanted this anymore.

"Anthony?" he asked, but Anthony’s hand flew out to press against his lips.

"Don’t…Don’t talk," he whispered, voice rough and eyes not removed from the ceiling. Steven swallowed, nodded, and moved his face so that Anthony’s hand dropped to his side, where it lay limp and despondent as Steven picked up his pace, suddenly wanting this to be over as fast as possible.

Anthony was there, he was under Steven, around him, in his hands, but he wasn’t there. He was somewhere else, somewhere Steven could never be. That was, perhaps, the worst part about it. Not that Anthony didn’t love Steven the way Steven loved him, but that Anthony could never love Steven that way, that this meant absolutely nothing.

The balloon in Steven’s chest inflated until it popped with the rush of orgasm, but then he just felt sick to his stomach. Anthony was seemingly satisfied with his achievement of pleasure, and pulled away quickly, grabbing his pants and shoving them back on, before situating himself as far from Steven as possible without getting out of bed.

Steven felt dirty, used. He tugged his pants back on and stood, shuffling from the room and not looking back even at Anthony’s questioning noise. He dragged his suitcase with him, trying not to make noise as he navigated the dark apartment by touch.

The Christmas lights outside were bright even through the curtains, and while normally he’d be enchanted by them, now he just felt gross looking at them. The whole apartment had a cloying, filthy atmosphere that hadn’t been present when Steven had first entered on this trip.

Anthony was tired of everything, this much Steven had been told. What he hadn’t been told, what he’d had to find out for himself, was that Anthony patched his holes with band-aids and didn’t fix his problems. His solution was the rattle of pills like machine gun fire, each tablet another bullet riddling his body. Anthony’s fix for loneliness was breaking someone’s heart, and even he couldn’t put a band-aid over that.

Steven didn’t sleep, just stared at the lights through the window and felt more vile with every passing moment. As soon as he heard the telltale sounds of waking from Anthony’s room, Steven ducked into the shower, wanting to avoid it for as long as possible.

Anthony might fix things with a handful of bullets, but Steven fixed things by ignoring them.

When he returned to the couch, Anthony still wasn’t up and about. Steven fished his laptop from his bag and booted it up. Nearly an hour later Anthony trundled into the room like a zombie, still come-stained and mussed from sleep. Steven pretended he didn’t see him, and he was pretty sure Anthony actually didn’t see him until he’d gotten at least two cups of coffee in his system.

Anthony’s eyes weren’t so dull as he said, “So what do you want to do today, Steven? I was thinking we could go get some-“

"My flight leaves at ten," Steven interrupted, eyes glued to his computer screen.

"What? That’s in, like," he glanced at the time, "almost an hour!"

Steven nodded, having been keeping track of the time, and he started packing up his laptop, pausing before putting it up to pull out a slightly squished gift. “Y’know, I got this for you…damn, it was a while ago. I could never find the right time to give it to you.” He stared at it with an almost wistful expression for a long moment before dropping it unceremoniously onto the couch.

"Steven, where are you-" Anthony asked, taking a slight step forward.

He interrupted Anthony again, this time with something he’d been thinking of all night. “I didn’t fly almost 3,000 miles just to be some kind of fucking booty call, Anthony,” he said, trying to keep his voice level but knowing some of his anger crept through. “I know you’re tired of everything, and I get it. I’ve been there. That doesn’t give you to right to-” he stopped himself, let out a shaky breath, and tried again. “You my best friend and I would do anything for you, but I can’t let you do this to me. Merry fucking Christmas, I’ll see you at PAX.” Having said his piece, Steven made for the door, not looking back even once.

He flagged a cab with minimal difficulty, glad that the city seemed to be cooperating with him, and climbed inside, pulling his suitcase in after him and slamming the door. He told the driver to get him to his airport, and Anthony watched from the window, feeling that same almost-guilt.

Anthony turned around and stared at the mildly flattened box. He sat next to it and peeled it open, brow wrinkling at the piece of loose-leaf paper with his name on it. Feeling oddly off-center, he picked it up and began reading.

_~~Dear Anthony,~~ _

_~~To Anthony,~~ _

_Anthony,_

_~~I’m not quite sure how to write this.~~   ~~I don’t know how to say this.~~  I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for ~~months~~   ~~years~~  a long time. I think I might be in love with you.  ~~Keep reading.~~  If everything has gone to plan, I should be sitting across from you, no doubt about to throw up by now. If it hasn’t gone to plan,  ~~well shit~~  I hope this has at least found you safely, and  ~~hopefully~~  I’ll be with you soon._

Anthony understood with a sinking feeling that he’d fucked up, and his hands started to tremor.

_I’ll understand if you don’t return my feelings. ~~Trust me, I know that feeling well enough by now.~~  I hope you do, but I won’t be mad if you don’t. You’re my best friend and, honestly, that’s  ~~more than I deserve~~  all I could ever ask of you._

Anthony realized there were tears in his eyes when the words got too blurred to read, and he wiped at them absently, wondering why he was crying.

_~~Well, I don’t know what else to say.~~  I guess that’s all I really had to say. I guess I’ll end this here and  ~~hopefully~~  talk with “real” Steven, the one who should be across from you right now._

_~~Sincerely,~~ _

_~~Love,~~ _

_Steven_

Anthony felt gnawing guilt in his stomach, and glanced at the time. It was 9:15. He could possibly make it to the airport in time to catch Steven. He was on his feet when he realized he would have nothing to say. He had used Steven to try and bridge the chasm in his chest. It was what best friends were supposed to do, but not in the way Anthony had tried it. Love complicated the matter further. When love wasn’t involved, it was easy.

Anthony sat down. This wasn’t a fucking movie. He wasn’t going to sprint through the airport and past security and catch Steven right before he got on his plane. He was going to sit on his couch, covered in his own ejaculate, feeling like scum, knowing he was scum.

He closed his eyes, put his head between his knees, and tried to quell the hopelessness he felt rising in his chest.

 

\- - -

 

It was New Year’s Eve when Steven called. “I know you’re tired,” he’d said without introduction, voice like the constant crash of the tides.

"I should sleep," Anthony replied, because he hadn’t since Steven had left. The quiet between them was louder than any words they could’ve filled it with.

"You know I’m in love with you," Steven said, and Anthony sighed.

"I’m sorry," Anthony hazarded, but the words didn’t come out sounding right, so he tried again. "I’m so fucking sorr-" he choked, and his constricted throat prevented him from saying more.

That same screaming silence stretched between them again. “You’re exhausted, get some sleep,” Steven finally said, and Anthony nodded, moving towards his bathroom. “Don’t take the pills, Anthony.”

Anthony’s fingers froze just before they opened the medicine cabinet, and he nodded again, turning around, shutting the light off, and slipping into his cold, empty bed. “I’m in bed,” he told Steven.

"Go to sleep, Anthony," Steven said, and the line went dead.

Anthony fell asleep with his phone clutched tight, a cheap facsimile of Steven, while across the country Steven watched a ball drop and made a resolution to stop the rattle of bullets in pill bottles. Compromise would be a beautiful thing.


End file.
